


The Lasttier

by FairyNiamh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Horror, Human Sacrifice, Kid Fic, Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyNiamh/pseuds/FairyNiamh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time The Lasttier was a kind plain young man. Now hundreds of years later he is something to be feared, something to leave sacrifices to appease him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lasttier

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to create my own Urban legend. Using this also for the 'Dreams' square on my 1_million_words bingo. Thank you to the lovely DrivvenWrinth for being the perfect beta.

Once, many years ago, before the invention of the steam engine, there was a small child. There was nothing spectacular about the child. Her looks were plain and her voice was a touch tinny. Her hair looked as if it were made of the same fabric as her flour sack dress, and her eyes dull and almost lifeless. Her intelligence was well above average for a girl of 10. Her imagination was vivid, wild, and she was the youngest of eight children.

There was one major downside. Being the youngest in a poor family came with risks. Such as the trial she was currently forced to endure. Her father had raced her to the nearest crossroads. There he placed her on her knees, told her how much he loved her, kissed her forehead, wished her luck, and promptly left.

She knew this trial. It was a trial that all children, who were the youngest in their family had to face. Her father had taught her everything he could to ensure her survival. Her mother had simply smiled wickedly and taunted her, telling her that she would die; just as her Aunt Josephine had.

Iphigenia had never met her Aunt Josephine, but she knew her story; knew she was her mother’s youngest sister. She Knew that Josephine had sat at the crossroads and failed the test that Iphigenia was now forced to take.

No one passed the test. Sure there was a rumor that once, well before she had been born; a young boy had passed the test. Supposedly he had returned to his family, but the boy had been of noble birth so surely he had purchased his freedom. Something that the young girl’s family would never be able to do. Iphigenia was certain that even if they could afford such luxury, her mother would have thrown her to the proverbial wolves. After all, not all mothers were loving. Iphigenia doubted the validity of the claim that the boy had lived.

She was not dumb and last winter Jaime, her neighbor, had been brought to trial at this very spot. When the villagers returned to the crossroads to collect him the next morning, all they found was blood and some shredded fabric from the outfit he had worn. Iphigenia could only imagine what ‘The Lasttier’, ‘The Beast of Burden’, had done to the small boy.

‘The Lasttier’, it was an appropriate name for the monster that had taken hundreds of lives throughout the course of its existence. She couldn’t help but think, ‘what a lonely life it must lead.’ Perhaps that was the key to survival. Although her father had told her the only way to pass the test was to make The Lasttier laugh.

How do you get a beast to laugh? Would it understand any jokes that came out of her mouth? What do you talk about? Was it ticklish? Emily, her youngest sister, well – older than she was; but the youngest of the remaining children, she was ticklish. You could wiggle your fingers at her and she would curl in on herself and laugh until she cried. No touches were needed. Iphigenia hoped that Emily would remain safe and that she would make sure Billy ate his vegetables.

Billy would be getting married in a year or so, and he had his eye on the blacksmith’s daughter. Joe, the blacksmith, even approved of the match and was apprenticing Billy to follow in his footsteps. She would miss Billy and Emily. They were the only two of her siblings who would openly disobey their mother and interact with Iphigenia. Billy had taught her to read and write and Emily would tell her jokes, jokes that Iphigenia hoped would win her freedom in this trial.

She had been kneeling for more than an hour and she could not feel her feet anymore. She knew that if she were to kick out her feet right then, it would feel as if they were being pricked by pins and needles, not the most comfortable of sensations. As ridiculous as it might sound, she hoped that The Lasttier will show sooner rather than later and make her death as quick as possible. She still had nightmares of Imogene's scream. The young girl who had been brought to the crossroads a few years back and the girl’s screams had lasted for hours. Her death had sounded very painful.

The first creature to approach Iphigenia was a cricket. She could almost hear it playing Chopin’s Funeral March with its wings. The melody was frightfully appropriate. She was more than ready for this ordeal to be over. She was not suicidal, however she was a realist and she knew that today several things would come to their conclusion, including most likely her life.

The next creature to approach was a mouse. She did not know why, but the mouse reminded her of the tale of The Lasttier’s origins. Perhaps it was because of the mouse’s timid nature. She remembered the tale and the feeling of sadness at the cruelty he had been forced to endure.

No one remembered his name, the tale was as old as time itself, so he might well be nameless. He was the youngest in the family. He towered over everyone in his village, his voice was that of a wolf’s, and his body was twisted and misshapen. He truly looked like the monsters of campfire tales, but he was a kind soul. He helped anyone who asked, was horribly shy, and truly loved the High Priest’s daughter.

The Butcher’s son found out about The Lasttier’s feelings for the sweet young lady. Knowing that some misshapen beast craved the same woman that he had sworn to marry sent the young man into a rage, but he was a man of slight build. He would stand no chance in a fight with the giant.

So he used what little intelligence he had. He approached the giant and lied to him. He told The Lasttier that the young lady had chosen him as her intended mate and wished to talk to him. She wanted to know what sort of dowry he could offer her father.

He led the large man to the crossroads and had him kneel to wait for the young lady. She would be along shortly. Little had the Butcher’s son known his words were, indeed honest. The young lady slowly approached the gentle giant and promised her hand in marriage in exchange for two cows and protection for her family.

The young man agreed readily. It would be difficult to get the cows, but he would get them and protect her and her family. Well everyone knew protecting the High Priest was the highest of honors. It was a position that would bring honor to his low ranking family.

Just as he kissed her hand to seal the deal an arrow whizzed past the man’s ear to land in his lover's shoulder. He quickly gathered her up and ran to the High Priest’s residence paying no heed to the arrows embedded in his back. Just as he handed off the young lady to her father an arrow buried itself deep in his head. He fell, with a smile, at the feet of the woman he loved.

The story never said what happened to the lady fair nor who had killed the poor Lasttier. Not that it mattered, everyone knew the envious Butcher’s son was the one who had slain the gentle giant. It was that man’s actions that cursed the children of today.

Never mind that not a soul cared about the old Butcher’s son. Children would burn an effigy of the man every year in hopes of ridding themselves, and the town of the curse. It never helped. Year in and year out when the villagers would go to the scene of the sacrifice, all that remained of the children they had left to be sacrificed was blood and bits of cloth.

Iphigenia screamed as a black beast ran past her and sliced through her skin and clothes like a knife ran through water. She sat up in the bed panting. Tomorrow was the day of the sacrifice, tomorrow her screams would be real, tomorrow she would die at the hands of The Lasttier. It would be far more painful than the imagined pain of her dreams.

Iphigenia hoped that tomorrow would never come; because she didn’t want to die. She would rather dream instead forever of yesterday than face the reality of tomorrow. Was it too much to ask for a ‘forever dream’? She should not die for another man’s sin, she would die to keep those who loved and hated her safe though. Tomorrow she would become part of the legend and perhaps someone would remember her sacrifice in their dreams.

~Fin~


End file.
